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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26687035">A Wee Monster Problem</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis'>Isis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Case Fic, Cerys an Craite is Queen of Skellige, F/F, Getting Together, Inspired by Fanart, Post-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Together they fight monsters!, Undercover as a Couple, Witcher Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:54:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,895</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26687035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Something's killing people on Ard Skellig near the elven ruins by Rogne.  Cerys hires Ciri for the contract, but it's going to take both of them to stop the culprit - along with Moon Dust bombs, silver swords, and some judicious kissing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Cerys an Craite</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Wee Monster Problem</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/12922014">Midnight Lure</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leyna/pseuds/Leyna">Leyna</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Yuletide 2017 there was a 'wrapping paper challenge' in which participants could opt in for art treats, if any artist wanted to make them.  I certainly did, so I gave art prompts in my 'dear writer' letter, and added: <i>If I receive any art treats, I will do my best to write a ficlet for the artist based on the art!</i>  Well, I did (and it's amazing, go look if you haven't seen it!), and so... I did, and here it is, finally, not quite three years late - and, uh, not exactly a ficlet! :-)</p><p>Thanks to plumedy for a very helpful beta read and excessive-Scots-influence-removal.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fayrlund disappeared behind her as Ciri rode Sunflower north, her purse jingling with the coin she’d earned from killing the foglets that had bedeviled the local hunters.  It was strange to be back on Ard Skellig, after everything that had happened with the Wild Hunt.  She hadn’t really expected to return at all, or at least, she hadn’t expected to return less than a year after that horrible battle.  But she’d been in Novigrad, taking on contracts and earning coin, when she’d been approached about hiring on as a bodyguard for a noblewoman taking ship to the Skellige Isles, and once she’d arrived she’d seen a notice posted about a siren infestation in Arinbjorn; when she’d dealt with that, she found a small girl who’d gone missing from Holmstein, and after that was the Fayrlund contract.  And so she was still here.</p><p>There was no reason to stay on Ard Skellig now, but also, there was no reason to leave as of yet.  It seemed there was no shortage of monsters, and a witcher was welcome here. True, there were those who narrowed their eyes at her and wondered aloud why a <em>woman</em> – and not only a woman, but one whose eyes, unusually green but still human, betrayed that she had not been changed by the mutating potions – dared call herself a <em>witcher</em>.  They soon changed their tune, though, when they saw her silver sword flashing.  And her results spoke for themselves.</p><p>But Ciri was in Clan an Craite territory, now, and it seemed only polite to call on the Queen of Skellige.  During their months together, as Geralt had taught her the skills she’d need to make her coin in her new calling, he had told her of how the old jarl Crach an Craite had asked him to help his daughter Cerys, who had sailed to Spikeroog to cure another jarl’s mysterious madness.  Once Geralt had determined the man had been possessed by a hym, she’d devised a clever plan to trick it out of him.  “She’s grown into quite a woman, that girl,” he’d said, his voice admiring.  “A good queen for the Skelligers.”</p><p>Ciri, who had spent a portion of her childhood with Hjalmar and Cerys, only remembered fiery hair and a disposition to match.  But she didn’t doubt Cerys made a better ruler than the even more hot-headed Hjalmar would have.  At least she thought before she acted, and apparently she was clever enough to impress Geralt.  In any case, she should visit.  The last time she’d been in the Skellige Isles, she’d been too busy making preparations before the battle with Caranthir and Eredin and the final, horrible battle against the White Frost to pay her respects to the new queen. </p><p>When she arrived at Kaer Trolde the men-at-arms nodded amiably.  “You’re here about the contract, then,” one said, as he led her into the hall.</p><p>“The contract?”</p><p>“You didn’t see it on the noticeboard?  Well, she’ll tell you about it, I’m sure.”</p><p><em>Well, that’s an unexpected bonus. </em> She hadn’t even checked the noticeboard in Kaer Trolde harbor, but had ridden straight for the keep.  If a contract was to be had here, that would mean more coin in her pockets, and maybe a good meal at the inn and a soft bed besides. </p><p>Cerys was at a broad desk of dark wood in her study, a room lined with bookcases a few turns of the corridor away from the main hall.  When the armsman showed Ciri in, she pushed aside the papers that she’d been studying and sprang up, walking around the desk with the cheerful step of a person happy to take a break from an unpleasant task.  Her eyes went to the swords on Ciri’s back.  “I’d heard there was a woman witcher on the island. Come to solve our wee monster problem?”</p><p>“Sparrowhawk,” said Ciri, using the other girl’s childhood nickname.  “Do you not remember me?”</p><p>Cerys paused, scrutinized her a little more closely.   “Ciri?  It <em>is</em> you!” She grinned and threw her arms around Ciri.   “I’d heard you were dead!”</p><p>Awkwardly Ciri returned her embrace.  “It was – a way of getting certain people off my back.”</p><p>“The Emperor of Nilfgaard.”  Cerys stepped back to lean against her desk, making a face as though she’d eaten something sour.  “He’s your father, I heard.  Geralt said he wanted you to return with him and be raised as a princess.”</p><p>“<em>Geralt</em> is my father. Emhyr var Emreis is a lecherous old man who can’t decide whether he wants to name me his heir or take me to bed.  Don’t you dare tell him I’m not actually dead.”</p><p>“The Emperor of Nilfgaard and I have an agreement:  He doesn’t come to Skellige, and I don’t raid his fleets.  Anyway, I’m glad it’s you, and I’m glad you’re a witcher and not a princess, because something’s killing my people and I need it stopped.”</p><p>A maidservant brought them foamy mugs of ale, cool and refreshing, and as they drank, Cerys described the problem. “There’s a ruin in the northern mountains, near Rogne, where men and women go courting.”</p><p>“They go courting in a ruin?”</p><p>“It’s very picturesque,” Cerys assured her.  “It’s where I had my first kiss.  Probably where everyone in Ard Skellig had their first kiss. You knew when you were invited to view the ruins by moonlight, it wasn’t architecture you’d be studying!”  </p><p>Her face softened as she reminisced, and Ciri wondered who had been Cerys’ first kiss.  Some fisherman’s son who smelled of the sea?  One of her father’s warriors?  Surely old Crach an Craite would have been particular about his daughter’s suitors.  </p><p>“Your father was a good man,” she said suddenly, thinking again of his bravery in that last, horrible battle.  Cerys must have been gutted by his death; she couldn’t imagine how she herself would feel, if Geralt had died facing the Wild Hunt.  “He was a fighter to the end.”</p><p>Cerys gave her an odd look – probably wondering how her mind had moved from the subject of kissing to Crach an Craite – but nodded.  “Thank you.  Geralt told me about the battle.”  She lifted her mug, and Ciri lifted hers, and together they toasted his memory.  </p><p>“So, this ruin?” asked Ciri, when she’d drunk down the last sweet dregs.</p><p>“It started three months ago.  A boy from Kaer Trolde Harbor, Ingver, went to the ruins with his girl Anna one evening.  When neither of them came back by the next morning, the men sent out a search party.  They heard screaming, and followed the sounds. Young Ingver was trapped in a deep chasm, his clothing ripped and covered in blood.”  She shook her head. “He remembered nothing.  One moment he was kissing Anna, and the next he was alone, clinging to the rocks with bloody hands.”</p><p>“Where was Anna?”</p><p>“They found her in the ruins, or rather, they found her body. Draped across a stone table like an altar sacrifice.”  Cerys shuddered.  “Her chest had been slashed by knives, or perhaps by claws.  The men who found her said they felt as though there were eyes on them, in the ruins, though when they turned to look there was nobody there.”</p><p>“I imagine that put a stop to the courting couples.”</p><p>“For a time,” said Cerys.  “But then two young lovers from Blandare disappeared last month.  They rode north one afternoon together, and never returned.  Nobody knew where they’d gone, and of course no one had expected they’d have gone to the ruins, not after what had happened to Ingver and Anna, but then a Rogne logger found their bodies.”</p><p>“How long after?”</p><p>“Long enough that there wasn’t much left of them.”  </p><p>Ciri nodded.  Wolves there were in Skellige, and other wild beasts besides.  Even had it been an uncanny creature that had killed the pair, the scavengers of the forest would not have overlooked an easy meal.  “So nobody could tell what it had been that killed them.”</p><p>“Some of the men went into the woods.  Found some wolves, killed them, and rode back into town with the pelts across their saddles, boasting that they’d taken care of the problem.”  Her lip curled.  “But it was only a boast, because a week ago whatever it was struck again.”</p><p>“Another courting couple?”</p><p>Cerys shook her head.  “A peddler and his wife, passing through with their wagon.  The horses bolted and came into Rogne near midnight, lathered and wild-eyed, one wheel on the cart broken and many of the goods scattered along the road.  The townspeople set out the next morning, and found them – the old man and woman, I mean.”</p><p>“Not wolves, I take it.”</p><p>“Who knows?  Maybe the horses spooked from something – a leshen or a wraith, or maybe just their shadows cast by the moon.  Their necks were broken from the fall.  Well, maybe from the fall.  Maybe from something else.”</p><p>“So you’ve put up a contract.  How much are you offering?”</p><p>Cerys looked at her.  It was a deep, searching look, and it made Ciri a little uncomfortable, and a little defensive.  As though Cerys thought Ciri should want to help her just because it would keep her villagers from being slain, and yes, of course Ciri wanted to stop the slaughter.  But she was a witcher, and witchers worked for coin.  Those were the rules.</p><p>“Two hundred and fifty crowns,” said Cerys finally.  </p><p>It was a large sum for a Skellige contract; Ciri had made but a little over a hundred for the foglets.  She nodded.  “I’ll speak to Ingver this afternoon, then leave for Rogne.”</p><p>“You’ll leave tomorrow morning,” said Cerys, smiling.  “Tonight you’ll be my guest here in the keep, and I’ll feed you roasted fish and too much ale, and you’ll tell me about what it’s like to be a witcher.”</p>
<hr/><p>Ingver was sitting on a bench outside his small house, mending a fishing net, when Cerys went looking for him in the harbor village.  Handsome, broad-shouldered and tall, with muscles in his arms that spoke of years of physical labor, he rose and invited Ciri into his house, calling out, “Mother, we have a guest!” </p><p>“You’ve come about the contract,” he said, gesturing for her to take the better of the two chairs in the front room.  “I’m so pleased that Queen Cerys has put up the coin – I wouldn’t be able to give but a dozen crowns.  But I’ll add them to her bounty if you find the killer.”  His fists clenched, and his voice hardened.  “My Anna must be avenged.” </p><p>“I’m sorry about your loss,” said Ciri.  “You were to be married?”</p><p>He nodded.  “This autumn, we were planning.”  He buried his head in his hands.  “I – I’m sorry.  I’m still having a hard time understanding what happened.”</p><p>“Cerys said you didn’t remember.  Has anything come back to you?”</p><p>“No.  I just – it was like waking from a nightmare to find it was real, you know?  I think whatever it was must have hit me on the head and thrown me into the ravine.  Just luck I landed on a ledge, instead of falling all the way down.”  He shuddered.  “I’m sorry, I don’t like thinking about it.”</p><p>“And no wonder, dear,” said his mother.  She had been busying herself in the kitchen and bustled in, putting mugs of warm tea in front of each of them.  She smiled at Ciri apologetically. “He’s still quite shaken by what happened.”</p><p>“Of course,” she murmured.  Ingver’s mother was gray-haired but otherwise looked fairly young.  Cerys had said that her husband had been lost in a storm at sea a few years back. She wore a pretty embroidered apron, and Ciri complimented it.</p><p>“Thank you, dear.  It was his Anna made it for me.  She made him a shirt, too – oh, she was so talented, what a pity, what a terrible shame she was taken from us so young.”</p><p>Ciri nodded.  “A pity, yes.  Tell me, Ingver, who was it rescued you from the ledge?”</p><p>“Big Holger, Little Holger, and Rurik.”</p><p>“When he hadn’t returned by morning, I went to the docks,” Ingver’s mother told her.  “Little Holger and Ingver fish together.  Thank Freya and all the gods that they found him.”</p><p>“Rogne’s quite some distance from here,” observed Ciri.  “Surely there are closer places to woo.” </p><p>Ingver shrugged.  “Not very romantic around here, with everything smelling of fish.”</p><p>“We made do,” said his mother sharply.  “And you would, too, if you were married.  Perhaps if you hadn’t gone –”</p><p>“Don’t lecture me.”  </p><p>“You know I wanted you wed this past spring.  Anna did, too, and I don’t know why –”</p><p>“Mother, please.” He sounded more weary than upset.</p><p>Ciri set down her mug of tea with perhaps more of a ‘thump’ than necessary, to remind them that she was in the room.  “When was the wedding to be?”</p><p>“After the season,” said Ingver.  “After we put the boats up for the winter.  Or maybe next spring.  It’s too busy in the summer.”</p><p>“You said it was too busy <em>this</em> spring,” said his mother.  Her lips were pursed and her nose wrinkled, as though she’d tasted something unpleasant. “Too busy this summer, aye, and for me as well.  ‘T’would have been nice to have Anna helping in the house.”</p><p>He shook his head.  “The winter storms were bad this year.  Too much damage to be repaired, and it wouldn’t be right to leave Little Holger to do the work alone while I spent time with a new bride.”</p><p>“I’m not surprised you have a lot of work to do,” said Ciri, getting to her feet.  “And you were busy when I came.  I should continue my work, as well.”  She asked them where she could find Rurik and the Holgers, then thanked them both and saw herself out.   </p><p>The fishermen didn’t have much to add.  They’d ridden to the ruins near Rogne – Ingver had told Little Holger that he’d be going there with Anna – and followed the hoarse shouts to the ravine where Ingver was clinging to a ledge.  “He probably could have climbed out if he’d had his wits about him,” Rurik said, shaking his head.  He was a barrel-chested man with a bushy gray beard, and he fished with Big Holger, Little Holger’s father.  “It wouldn’t have been easy, mind you, but he’s a strong lad, is our Ingver.  But he was slumped against the wall with his head in his hands, and though we called out many times to him, he didn’t even look up at us until we’d dropped a rope down and Little Holger had gone down to him.”</p><p>“Sounds like he was in shock.”</p><p>“Aye, like Old Herren when that siren jumped into his boat two summers ago. Sometimes it’s not the monsters that get you, but what comes after, when the monster has taken your will and you’re standing there like a ninny.”</p><p>Rurik was a wise man, thought Ciri, for all that he was an uneducated fisherman.  She remembered Vesemir telling her a similar story to impress that same lesson on her.  Claws and teeth might not kill you, but if you couldn’t muster the courage to pull yourself up after they’d knocked you down, you’d be dead all the same when the next drowner or wolf came by.  It wouldn’t even take a monster to kill you, if it was winter, and you were out on the hillside, exposed to the cold and wind.  Good thing for Ingver it had been summer; the Skellige Isles were harsh enough with fine weather.</p><p>“You found the girl, Anna, as well?”</p><p>“Aye.”  Rurik sighed heavily.  “It was an ugly thing the wolf did to her.  Such a pretty girl, she was, and torn apart like a sail in a storm.”</p><p>“You’re certain it was a wolf?”</p><p>“A wolf, a fiend, a dragon – who knows?  Something with sharp claws and a taste for blood.”</p><p>Ciri frowned.  The common folk thought wolves fearsome, but she’d killed enough of them to know that their claws weren’t really all that sharp. <em>They did have a taste for blood, though. </em> Aloud, she said:  “But whatever it was, it didn’t tear Ingver apart.”</p><p>He shrugged.  “His clothes and skin were slashed as well.  I think he tried to fight it off, and it tossed him off the cliff. Lucky that he fetched up on the ledge as he did.”</p><p>The Holgers’ account was similar.  They’d taken Anna’s body back and buried it in the small cemetery, they said, and offered to show her the place, but she declined.  She wouldn’t learn anything from that.  She did want to speak with Anna’s sister, as the sisters had lived together, but Little Holger shook his head.  “She went to Spikeroog.  She’s got a sweetheart there.  Said she was only staying here to see Anna married.”</p><p>It was enough to start with, anyway.  She almost regretted telling Cerys she’d spend the night at Kaer Trolde, for she was already engrossed in the story, in poor Anna’s fate, and was itching to get out to Rogne and find out what she could there.  Instead she’d be spending the night in a soft bed in a fine castle, not on boughs in the forest, and that felt, obscurely, like a betrayal of the Path.  <em>Add it to all the other ways I’m not a real witcher, I suppose</em>. </p><p>But it would be good to spend more time with Cerys, and she had promised.  And so she thanked the villagers, went to the inn where Sunflower was stabled to give her a few oats and brush her mane, and then walked across the bridge to the keep.</p>
<hr/><p>Ciri left for Rogne a bit later in the day than she’d intended, though she didn’t regret for one instant any of the many mugs of ale she’d downed, nor the late night laughing with Cerys on a rooftop of the keep with a magnificent view of the stars and the white foam on the waves below.  It had been too long since she’d had a night with a friend.  The noblewoman who had contracted her as a bodyguard had been pleasant but remote, and the peasants and fishermen whose problems she’d taken on had been too awed by her to say much more than <em>yes, </em><em>miss</em><em> witcher</em> and <em>no, </em><em>miss</em><em> witcher</em>.  One night, camping in a copse not far from the main road, she’d even started talking to Sunflower out of sheer desperation.</p><p>But being with Cerys was easy, for all that she was a queen.  The Skelligers didn’t stand for formality, and that included their rulers.  There had been a few awkward moments, as they each reached tentatively into their shared past to find long-ago memories to talk about, but soon they were speaking from the heart, like the old friends they were. </p><p>It reminded her, with a pang, of how it had been with Geralt, when they’d been on the Path together.  It had been an idyllic few months, fighting monsters during the day and talking around their shared campfire at night.  She had almost forgotten, during her long and frightening flight from the Wild Hunt, how much she loved him, and when he’d awakened her and brought her back to Kaer Morhen they had had little time together during the battle, or the frantic weeks that followed.  She treasured each day spent learning to brew potions under his tutelage, and each evening by the campfire, rebuilding their relationship from the foundations they’d laid when she had been younger.</p><p>She had known, though, that it would have to end.  Geralt often grumbled about his scars, about his old bones.  He claimed his reflexes had slowed, though he never seemed anything other than swift and strong to her.  Not long before that final battle, he had gone to Toussaint to investigate a monster, and had ended up with a vineyard estate.  She couldn’t believe he actually wanted to retire there, to hang up his swords and grow grapes, but he had insisted that was where his heart was.  “It’s up to you now.  You’re the last of the School of the Wolf, now that Kaer Morhen’s a ruin,” he’d said, and kissed her firmly on both her cheeks.  Then he’d turned Roach south, and she hadn’t seen him since.  Perhaps in a year or so she might dare a visit, but Toussaint was a vassal state of the Nilfgaardian Empire, and she did not want to risk being seen by anyone who might report her presence to Emhyr.</p><p>Sunflower bore her east.  The days were beginning to get shorter now, but there was still plenty of sun, and she felt pleasantly warm by the time she reached the village of Rogne, even though the air itself had grown cooler as she’d climbed into the mountains.  </p><p>There was no inn – it was a very small village – but she dismounted as she entered the center of town, and hailed the first person she saw, a gray-haired woman cooking something in a large iron kettle hanging over a fire.  “I’m looking for information about the monster that’s been said to kill near the ruins.”</p><p>“<em>You’re</em> a witcher?”  The woman squinted at her, her expression dubious.</p><p>“Yes.  Sent here by Queen Cerys.”  </p><p>The woman relaxed and nodded.  This was an Craite territory, and the queen’s word was good.  “You’ll want to go to the logging camp, then.  Most of the men are there now.  They’re the ones what found the lovers cut to bits.”</p><p>“And the old couple last week?”  The woman flushed.  Ciri noticed that she was wearing a new-looking apron, and wondered if it had been ‘salvaged’ from the wreck of the wagon.  She smiled as disarmingly as she could, and added,  “You’re not to blame if you took their goods.  They have no need of them now, do they?”</p><p>“What were we to do?  It was a mess, broken crates and things everywhere.  Anyway, the men, they’re the ones to ask.  Not me.  I didn’t go out there.”  She shuddered.  “It’s all right for you, with your swords.  But I don’t mind telling you, I’ll be happy when that thing is put to rest, whatever it is.”</p><p>“You don’t think it was wolves?”</p><p>“Wolves hunt for food.  They don’t just tear prey apart and leave the...meat.”</p><p>“I thought the bodies had been eaten.”</p><p>“They’d been eaten <em>on</em>, yes.  Not eaten <em>up</em>.  Like scavengers picking, not like a hungry wolf gobbling.”  She looked at Ciri with something approaching pride.  “I’ve lived in these mountains all my life, girl.  I know the difference.”</p><p>“Thank you,” said Ciri, and she meant it sincerely, for she had no appetite to dig up the graves to see for herself. Mounting Sunflower again, she headed back out of town in the direction of the logging camp.  She saw the ruins about two-thirds of the way toward the camp; they rose dark and craggy on the far side of a wide meadow, silhouetted against the snowy peaks beyond, but she decided to wait until she’d spoken to the loggers before investigating.  The information they gave her would inform her explorations, and anyway, she planned to spend the night there.</p><p>As it turned out, the loggers didn’t have much to add to what the old woman in Rogne had told her.  They’d found the bodies of the couple from Blandare just barely off the road at the edge of the meadow, their eyes drawn by the ravens that had settled to scavenge what the wolves had left.</p><p>“So you think it was wolves?”</p><p>“Always wolves in these parts,” said a tall, bearded Skelliger.</p><p>“But was it wolves that killed them?” she persisted.</p><p>The men looked at each other, and finally one said, “They’re dead either way.” </p><p>She understood.  It wasn’t so much that they believed that wolves had killed them, as that wolves were creatures they were familiar with, creatures they knew how to deal with.  When she’d asked about the ruins, the men had told her that they avoided them on general principle, even before the killings had started.  “The elves built them, and we stay out,” one said.  “Don’t care for things I can’t put my axe through.”</p><p>“<em>Are</em> there things there you can’t put your axe through?”</p><p>He shrugged.  “Best keep that silver sword by you, if you’re fool enough to stay there at night.”</p>
<hr/><p>The sun was still a couple of handsbreadths above the horizon when Ciri returned to the meadow and turned her horse off the road.  Cerys had been right:  it was a ridiculously picturesque setting.  The ruins glowed in the slanting sunlight, and behind them the snowy mountains glittered as though they were covered in tiny diamonds.</p><p>The lush meadow still held a scattering of wildflowers, and here and there were stands of trees and a few large boulders, each a perfect shelter for a pair of lovers.  She dismounted near one about halfway to the ruin that had an old fire ring, blackened rocks encircling charred sticks and ashes.  She took down her bedroll and saddlebags and leaned them against a boulder, then unsaddled Sunflower and sent her to graze, while Ciri herself headed toward the ruins.</p><p>It had once been a small keep, she could see that, and one of the graceful arches characteristic of elven construction still remained unbroken.  The roof had entirely fallen in, though, as had the other buttresses, and moss grew thickly on the remaining walls and through cracks in the stone floor.</p><p>A large rectangular obsidian block sat in the center of one of the ruined rooms.  This must be the altar-like stone table Cerys had mentioned, realized Ciri, and she closely examined it and its surroundings.  But it had been too long since the girl’s death, and the rains, unimpeded by any roof, had washed it clean.</p><p>The room itself still had two walls standing.  One had an arched door that led further into the ruin; the other, which had a large window opening in its center, formed the building’s back wall.  Ciri walked over to look out.  Beyond the ruin she could see a stream, flowing cold and clear out of the high mountains.  To the right of the ruin the stream was dammed by rocks, creating a small pool; that would be where she’d collect her drinking water.  On the other side of the rock dam, the stream trickled over into a gorge.  <em>That must be the gorge where Ingver was found.</em>  She left the ruins to take a closer look.</p><p>The gorge was narrow and deep, and she marveled at how long it must have taken the thin trickle of water to create such a cleft.  Likely at other times of year it ran more swiftly and with more volume, she decided.  As it was, she could not make out the stream at the bottom, nor even tell how far the bottom was.  Perhaps fifteen feet below the cliff’s edge ran an irregular ledge, its width ranging from a handspan or so near the waterfall to several feet at its widest, before petering out in a series of ragged blocks that looked like the top of an ancient cave-in. If Ingver had been tossed off his feet by a monster and landed on that ledge, it must have hurt.  Fortunately, she had other options, and a quick blink of teleportation took her to the widest part of the ledge.  </p><p>The sides of the gorge were breathtakingly sheer in places, but broken in others.  There were enough hand and footholds that a fearless person could climb back up to the top.  She made her way along the ledge to the waterfall.  Here, the gorge was so narrow that she thought she might be able to climb up by working up both sides, like a cat in a chimney.  Experimentally she swung her left foot across to the other side and climbed up a short distance, then carefully stepped back down, and then back onto the ledge.  <em>A cat who didn’t mind the spray of water in its face, anyway. </em></p><p>She walked back along the ledge, looking down into the gorge below her feet.  The gorge quickly widened away from the waterfall, but even here its walls were only twenty or twenty-five feet apart, and the angle of the sun above threw the stream below into shadow; she squinted down, trying to make out more than dark shapes.  Then she laughed to herself.  She’d been thinking about a cat climbing a chimney, and that had reminded her that she <em>could</em> see the bottom, if she wanted.  There was a vial of Cat potion in her pouch, one of the useful brews Geralt had taught her.  She slipped it out, uncorked it, and drank it down.</p><p>Immediately the world rewrote itself into black and white and shades of gray, and the edges of the rocks below sprang into sharp focus.  Ciri could feel her heart beating a little faster than usual; that, plus a slight distortion at the edges of her perception, were the only side effects, as fortunately Cat wasn’t one of the really toxic potions, the ones that taxed a witcher’s mutated constitution and were risky for anyone without those mutations to drink.  </p><p>She scanned the gorge below.  Nothing unusual, just rocks and water, a few bright sparks of life where insects scurried.  Carefully she moved along the ledge, looking below her, and – wait.  There, in the jumble of irregular rocks, lay a bright shape with straight edges.  It had to be man-made.</p><p>She blinked herself down to the bottom, stumbling slightly when she materialized an inch above the uneven ground.  Cat made proportions and distances a bit trickier.  But she could see the object clearly, now, wedged between a rock and a bit of a tree limb that must have washed down the gorge at some point.  </p><p>It was a dagger.</p>
<hr/><p>“So you think Ingver killed his own bride?”  Cerys leaned forward, skepticism written in every line of her face.  “Why would he do that?”</p><p>Ciri shrugged.  “Maybe he didn’t really want to get married.  Apparently he’d put off the wedding several times.”</p><p>“Well, that sounds like a wee bit of an overreaction, wouldn’t you say?  Murdering the poor girl?  If I didn’t want to get married, I’d just break it off.  Or more likely not agree to marry in the first place.”</p><p>“That’s what <em>you</em> would do,” agreed Ciri.  She couldn’t imagine anyone trying to push Cerys around, that was for certain. When she’d come back to Kaer Trolde, Cerys had been in a meeting with the man who oversaw the royal treasury.  She’d offered to wait, but the doorkeeper had told Ciri that Cerys had left orders that she should be shown in as soon as she returned, and brought her to the queen’s study.  Cerys had shooed away the adviser despite his complaints, telling him that the coin would stay where it was for another few hours without her help. </p><p>She took another bite of the cheese and bread that Cerys had sent for, and washed it down with a long drink of ale.  When she finished, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve.  “That’s what I’d do, too.  But who knows what Ingver would do?”</p><p>“You don’t.  Not for sure, you said.”</p><p>“Not for sure.  But there were deep gashes all over Anna’s body when the loggers found her.  They told me they thought it had been wolves, but you yourself said it could have been a knife, when you told me about it.  If her own lover killed her, it’d be no wonder her unhappy spirit would become a vengeful wraith.”</p><p>“Did you see the wraith?”</p><p>Ciri shook her head.  She’d spent the night in the meadow sitting by her fire, her back to a boulder.  She hadn’t slept at all, but nothing had attacked her.  The old woman in Rogne had been shocked when she rode into town and told her what she’d done – and what she <em>hadn’t</em> seen – and had let her sleep for a few hours in her own hut.  “I have an idea.  But I’m going to need one of your men to help me.  A strong soldier with a good sword arm, who won’t get frightened easily.”</p><p>“I might be able to loan you one of my soldiers.  But you’ll have to tell me more than that.”</p><p>Ciri hesitated, then nodded.  “I think that she’s become a nightwraith, bound to the place of her death.  But she doesn’t attack people indiscriminately.  Only those who remind her of her sorrow and rage.”</p><p>“Couples,” said Cerys.  She looked thoughtful.  “You think it’s that she gets angry when she sees lovers.”</p><p>“That’s it exactly.”  Ciri had to smile.  Geralt hadn’t been wrong about Cerys’ quick mind and sharp intellect.  “So, will you find me a temporary boyfriend who knows how to use a sword?”</p><p>“I’m afraid not.”</p><p>The smile drained away from Ciri’s face.  “But – then I can’t destroy her!  If she only manifests when lovers are nearby, she won’t show herself for me alone.”</p><p>“Ciri, I can’t ask one of my soldiers to risk his life on witcher’s work.”</p><p>“I see,” said Ciri woodenly.  She stared at the floor to cover her dismay and confusion.  So much for brave, clever Cerys, Queen of Skellige, and her ‘wee monster problem.’  </p><p>“That’s why it will be me who comes with you,” said Cerys, and Ciri’s head shot back up.</p><p>“What?  No, Cerys, you can’t!”</p><p>“What do you mean, I can’t?” Her voice had a dangerous edge to it.  “Do you not think my sword arm strong enough?”</p><p>“You’re the queen!  You yourself said you couldn’t ask a soldier to risk his life – you certainly can’t risk your own!”</p><p>“I am the queen,” agreed Cerys.  “And that’s precisely why it must be me.  It is my responsibility to keep my people safe, and I can’t ask any of them to do what I wouldn’t do myself.”  She paused, then added, “Unless it’s that you think you won’t be able to convince this specter that we’re lovers.”</p><p>Ciri felt her cheeks turn pink under Cerys’ steady gaze.  “I think I could manage that.  What about you?”</p><p>“Oh, I’m looking forward to it.”  Her eyes sparkled.  “If we leave now, we can be there tonight.”</p><p>Ciri shook her head.  “I think I need a full night’s sleep first, and I’ve got to make preparations. I need to make specter oil, and Moon Dust bombs.  And you’ll need a silver sword.”</p><p>“I’m sure the armory has something I can use.  As for the preparations, I’ll show you to my stillroom.  Let my steward know what you need, and he’ll bring it.  You can stay the night here, of course.”</p><p>“No, I can’t.  It’s not that I don’t want to,” she added hurriedly.  “But to kill a wraith, to truly kill it rather than only dispel it for the moment, one must call its entire spirit, and that requires binding with something it owned while living.  I need to go to Spikeroog and see Anna’s sister, and I’d better do that right away.”</p><p>“What about Ingver?  He’d likely have something of hers.”</p><p>“Yes, and he’d wonder what I wanted it for.  I don’t want him to know that we suspect him of killing her.”</p><p>“Fair enough.  Well, then.  Off to Spikeroog with you.”  Cerys smiled.  “I’ll see if I can’t track down a silver sword.”</p>
<hr/><p>It wasn’t entirely true that she needed to go right away, thought Ciri, as she walked along the rocky shore of Spikeroog, trying to tamp down a vague tinge of guilt. She certainly could have stayed at Kaer Trolde for a day or two, brewing potions and oils and bombs, and then come to find Anna’s sister afterward.  But she needed time to think about what Cerys had offered – and to do that, she needed time away from her.</p><p>Had that excitement in Cerys’ eyes been only for the prospect of fighting a nightwraith, for helping to get rid of a monster that preyed on her people?  Or had that look meant something more?  Since their first meeting at Kaer Trolde – their first meeting as adults, as witcher and queen – their conversations had been easy, enjoyable.  That night before she’d left for Rogne had been one of the most pleasant that Ciri had had in some time.  They’d sat together on the keep roof, drinking wine and looking at the stars.  Ciri had told Cerys about stopping the White Frost, and Cerys had told her about the massacre in her hall, and how her servant had tried to kill both her and Geralt.  </p><p>Ciri remembered Cerys as her childhood friend, a scrappy girl a few years younger than she was.  For a while they’d been an inseparable trio, Ciri, Cerys, and Hjalmar.  But then Hjalmar had declared himself in love with Ciri, and that was an exciting and wonderful thing; she hadn’t been quite sure what “being in love” meant, but it was flattering that Hjalmar paid her so much attention, and soon she was sure she was in love with him, too.  It made her feel all fizzy and exhilarated, and she was devastated when they were separated – or at least, she was as devastated as a young girl barely taking her first tentative steps into womanhood could be.  Later she’d felt chagrined, realizing how in playing at romance, she and Hjalmar had cut Cerys out from their small circle.  But Cerys didn’t seem to hold it against her, now, for which Ciri was grateful.  It would have been a lot harder to be doing her witcher’s work in Skellige if the queen had been carrying a grudge!</p><p>But Cerys had maturity beyond her years – no doubt that was one factor that had led to her being named Queen of Skellige – and of course, Ciri had matured as well.  She’d got over that first heartbreak soon enough. By the time she was twenty she’d had a dozen lovers, men and women both, and she understood the difference between loving someone and merely desiring them.  Not that there was anything wrong with desire; sex was a lot of fun, especially with someone you genuinely liked.  And the game of flirtation and seduction was much more exciting now than it had been when she’d been a young girl.</p><p>And she was pretty sure that Cerys’ offer had been a move in that game.  The way she’d looked when she’d said she was looking forward to pretending to be lovers to draw out the nightwraith – that wasn’t just anticipation of getting rid of a monster.  That look had said that Cerys was thinking about sitting with her at a campfire, sharing a blanket, holding hands...even if their other hands both gripped silver swords. </p><p>The prospect sounded delightful to Ciri, as well.  Or it would have, had Cerys not been Queen of Skellige.  Rulers had responsibilities to the people they ruled.  Geralt had said that Emhyr var Emreis had sounded baffled that she had been uninterested in his throne; he thought he was offering her silken gowns and fine jewels and unimaginable power, but she knew it to be a gilded cage.  </p><p>The worst part was, she had been tempted.  Not by the pretty trappings of royalty, but by the idea of guiding the most powerful empire on the Continent.  She wouldn’t have been a capricious despot like Radovid or Henselt had been.  Like Cerys, she would strive to do the best for her people.</p><p>But the price – the loss of her freedom – was too high.  She did not want to attend state dinners and negotiate treaties and marry a nobleman and produce heirs.  She wanted to sleep under the stars and climb mountains and kill monsters.  She was Zireael, the swallow, and swallows flew free.  She would not be locked in a cage, no matter how bright and shiny the bars.  </p><p>The Skellige isles, though, were very different from Nilfgaard.  It was as though the vast distance between the northern islands and the southern empire was not only measured in space, but in attitude and worldview.  Cerys had won her throne by merit, not by blood.  The rules were different for monarchs here.  Perhaps, thought Ciri, the Skelligers would cheer their queen’s bravery in helping to destroy the monster that had preyed on them.  </p><p>Perhaps they wouldn’t even mind if she dallied with a lady witcher.</p>
<hr/><p>“Did you get what you needed?” asked Cerys, as they walked down the stone corridor.  </p><p>Ciri nodded.  “A wooden comb that Anna used to wear in her hair.”  Anna’s sister hadn’t wanted to part with it. She’d had only a few small baubles and keepsakes, and her eyes had filled with tears just thinking of her sister.  But Ciri had told her, as gently as she could, that if she were correct, the comb would release Anna from her eternal torment, and her sister had blinked back her tears and pressed it into Ciri’s hand.  </p><p>They rounded a corner and Cerys opened a door.  It was brass-bound wood, thick, with a small window set into it.  “Here’s where I make herbal salves and suchlike.”  She crossed the room to a cabinet that held rows of jars.  “You’re welcome to use any of my ingredients.  If I don’t have what you need, there’s a herbalist near the harbor, or we can go up to the forest and see what we can find.”</p><p>Ciri looked around approvingly.  There were large windows overlooking the water, with wooden shutters that could be closed against the weather or thrown wide to air out the room.  The jars were labeled neatly, and scanning them she saw most of the common herbs and barks needed for the recipes Geralt had taught her. </p><p>Of course, the more potent oils and potions contained more esoteric ingredients such as monster parts – which, fortunately, she already had in her saddlebags, for she was careful to harvest useful ingredients whenever she made a kill.  And assuming they’d face a wraith, she only needed Moon Dust bombs and specter oil, which should be easy enough to cook up.  She checked the larger jars.  “Plenty of saltpeter, that’s good, and honeysuckle and hops.  I’ll need quicksilver, but I should be able to get that from the herbalist.”</p><p>Cerys nodded.  “When shall we go, then?”</p><p>She considered.  They’d need to stay awake until the spirit showed itself.  If it were a nightwraith, it would wait until full dark, which now, in late summer, took its own sweet time.  “Did you get a lot of sleep last night?”</p><p>“Not enough.  I was wondering when you’d be back.”  Cerys grinned, and she found herself grinning back.</p><p>“Missed me, did you?”</p><p>“Well, you’re my girlfriend, aye?”  Cerys reached out and squeezed her arm lightly, making a joke of it.  “It’s only that I’ve been sitting too long in this keep.  It’s a great adventure that we’ll be having, and I’m looking forward to it.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t think of it that way.  It’s a serious thing.  We must take all precautions.”</p><p>“Aye.  So you’ll show me how to make the oils and the bombs you said we need.  While you were gone I practiced with the silver sword.  It’s balanced a bit differently from the one I ordinarily use, but I’ve got the hang of it now.”</p><p>Ciri marveled at the fierceness on her face.  She shouldn’t have chided her, she realized; it was clear that Cerys took their planned expedition seriously, as seriously as she took all her responsibilities as queen of these islands.  “All right.  We need quicksilver for the Moon Dust, but if you can send someone to the herbalist to fetch it, we can get started on the specter oil.  Tonight we’ll just try to get a solid night of sleep.  Tomorrow night we’ll see if we can’t put Anna’s shade to rest.”</p><p>Making the blade oil went quickly with Cerys helping, and by the time the soldier she’d sent to the harbor for quicksilver came back, they had made all the oil they’d need and were ready to tackle the Moon Dust bombs.  These were fussier, trickier to get right, but when the sun had fallen below the horizon they had six of the bombs, which Ciri carefully packed into saddlebags for their journey.</p><p>“Well, that was thirsty work,” said Cerys, leading Ciri out of the stillroom and toward the hall.  “I think we’ve both earned our ale.”</p><p>“As long as it comes with food,” said Ciri.  “I’m starving!”  Her stomach gave a growl as though to underline her words. </p><p>“We’ve got fish pie tonight, and baked apples.  I’ll have Cook roast a couple of chickens for us to take tomorrow, and cheese and bread as well, along with the dried fruit and –”  Ciri’s stomach gurgled again, and Cerys laughed.  “We’ll be well fed, I promise you.”</p><p>That was an understatement, as it turned out.  When they set out the next afternoon, their saddlebags were bulging with enough food for a week, along with the witcher potions they’d crafted. Like Ciri, Cerys had two swords:  her ordinary steel one at her waist and the silver one strapped across her luggage.  “I reckon we might run into wolves, or bandits.  But if it’s something uncanny, well, I should have the other close by.  Best to be prepared, aye?”</p><p>Ciri nodded.  “Though I’m surprised your guardsmen didn’t insist on coming with us,” she said, as they rode out from the keep and turned their horses toward Rogne.</p><p>“Why?  They know I can take care of myself.  <em>And</em> I’ve got a witcher along.  You’ve earned yourself quite a reputation here, you know.”</p><p>“Apparently, so have you!”</p><p>“They wouldn’t have chosen me to be queen if I hadn’t.”</p><p>“I suppose not,” said Ciri.  She was still a little uneasy about having Cerys with her for this.  Not that she didn’t think the queen couldn’t pull her weight; that morning, she’d insisted on seeing how Cerys handled herself with the silver sword, and had to concede to herself that she was both fast and strong.  But it felt like so much responsibility.  Not just because she was the queen, but because Ciri genuinely liked her.  For the first time she understood how Geralt must have felt, taking her on the Path to train her as a monster-hunter.  The pride she felt, and the fear along with it, mingled together into a lump in her belly that had nothing to do with the food served at Kaer Trolde.</p><p>They’d stayed up late the previous night, knowing they didn’t need to rise early.  Even after putting aside the ale they’d been quaffing for apple juice warmed with spices, Ciri had felt a bit light-headed as she and Cerys sat side by side, planning for their journey and telling each other stories from their adventures over the past years.  Cerys radiated confidence and energy, and more than once Ciri had been tempted to lean over and take her in her arms.  To see if those lips tasted like the sun-touched raspberries they called to mind.</p><p>But their task loomed ahead of them, and Ciri had reminded herself that they needed to focus on that.  On finding the truth of what had killed the couples near that ruin, and what had killed Anna – and, if her theory was right, ending Anna’s suffering and vengeance by destroying the wraith she’d become.  There would be time afterward for...for whatever happened next.</p>
<hr/><p>Neither wolves nor bandits accosted them on the road, and they reached the ruin a few hours before sunset.  “Go ahead and get a fire going,” said Ciri.  She dismounted by the rocks where she’d camped before.  “I’m going to poke around just to make sure there’s nothing to surprise us.”</p><p>“And I thought when I became queen people would stop ordering me around,” said Cerys, laughing as she swung down from her own horse.  “No, go on, do your witchery things.  I can gather wood and start a fire well enough.”</p><p>Ciri unsaddled Sunflower and sent her to graze, then went to refill their water skins and check the ruin and the gorge.  Nothing had changed since she’d been there before, which gave her more confidence in her assessment of the situation.  She wouldn’t know for certain unless – until – the nightwraith appeared, but it was seeming more and more likely that things would play out as she’d planned.  She and Cerys would be seen as lovers, seen as a threat.  The wraith would appear and try to kill them.  <em>Well, one step at a time.</em></p><p>Back at the camp Cerys had indeed got a fire going, sending sparks and smoke into the air.  It wasn’t needed for the warmth yet, but Ciri knew that as soon as the sun dropped behind the snowy peaks it would get cold indeed.   Cerys had hung a cast-iron pot over it, to warm their food, and the scent of roasted chicken tickled her nose.</p><p>“Here,” said Cerys, handing her a bottle.  “A bit of mead to take with our dinner.”</p><p>Ciri shook her head as she sat on the fallen log that Cerys had moved near the fire to serve as a bench. “We need all our wits.”</p><p>“But the beastie won’t show herself until dark, aye?  We’ve got time.  And we need something to wash down this lovely feast.”</p><p>“Just a little,” warned Ciri, but she had to admit that the mead tasted wonderful, sweet as the honey it was brewed from, and it warmed her belly nicely. It was with reluctance she replaced the cork in the bottle, after they’d each had a few sips, and reached instead for the apple juice.</p><p>After they finished eating and cleaned the pot and dishes, Ciri took the Moon Dust bombs from the saddlebags. She gave Cerys three, keeping the other three for herself.  “Where’s your sword?”</p><p>“The silver one?”  Cerys pulled it from her pile of things.</p><p>Ciri showed her how to apply the blade oil, then used some on her own sword. It glowed slickly in the firelight and the dying rays of the sun, which was just dropping behind the jagged ridge. “Now we wait.”</p><p>“A pity we can’t drink more of that mead,” sighed Cerys as she added a log to the fire.  “You’ll have to entertain me instead.”</p><p>Ciri snorted. “If you wanted entertainment you should have taken along a bard.”</p><p>“What I want is to get rid of this creature preying on my folk, which is why I took along a witcher.”  She looked at Ciri and smiled.  The firelight danced on her skin, making it glow. “We should be acting like lovers, shouldn’t we be?”</p><p>“We need to keep our eyes open and our swords close at hand.”</p><p>Cerys scooted closer and put a hand on Ciri’s knee.  “I only need one hand for my sword.” Her warm breath ghosted across Ciri’s neck. “And I like to keep my eyes open so I can see who I’m kissing.”</p><p>“Well, in that case,” murmured Ciri.  She tugged at Cerys’ cloak, pulling the edge of it around her own shoulders, and leaned in to meet Cerys’ lips.</p><p>It might have been a kiss intended to send a message to the nightwraith, but it was definitely not only for show.  Cerys’ soft moan was meant for her ears alone, she knew, and Cerys’ hand tightening around her knee was not something that anyone else would see.   Her lips were soft and her tongue quick and clever, and Ciri wondered, again, just what Cerys wanted from her.  Was this merely an opportunity for a dalliance, or was it something more?  </p><p>As if sensing her thoughts, when their lips parted, Cerys whispered, “There’s plenty work for a witcher on Ard Skellig, if you’re wanting to stay a while.”</p><p>“Do you want me to stay?”</p><p>“How can you ask that!” Her voice softened, and she added, “Of course I want you to stay.  I’ve not been this happy in months. You’re the one person I’ve been with in the past year who doesn’t either put me on a pedestal or want to kill me.”</p><p>Movement near the ruins caught Ciri’s eye. It had become fully dark while they’d been kissing; the only light came from the fire, and the sliver of moon that hung low in the eastern sky. “I think we have a visitor.”</p><p>“Another one who wants to kill me!” Despite her playful tone, Cerys tensed in her arms, and she turned her head to follow Ciri’s gaze.  “Aye, there she is.”</p><p>Ciri reached into her cloak and pulled out the wooden comb. “Take out one of your Moon Dust bombs. When I give the signal, throw it at the wraith, then draw your sword and be ready.”</p><p>The nightwraith glided toward them, its hair and translucent, tattered dress flowing softly as though blown by a breeze that existed only for that purpose. A wave of sadness and despair washed over Ciri; she saw Cerys’ brow wrinkle with concern, and a tear come to her eye. “It’s  only the nightwraith’s aura making you sad,” she murmured softly in Cerys’ ear.  <em>Poor Anna</em>. Then she tossed the comb into the fire, shouting, “Now!”</p><p>Immediately the fire flared high, brightening the night, and the nightwraith screamed.  Cerys leaped to her feet and lobbed the Moon Dust bomb, scoring a solid hit on the wraith’s chest. The apparent breeze vanished as its form solidified; Ciri teleported next to it and slashed her silver sword across its body.  As she brought her sword up again to attack a second time she saw Cerys, sword in hand, moving toward them. </p><p>She parried the wraith’s grasping claws and then landed a second blow as Cerys struck the monster’s back with her own silver sword. Hissing, the wraith turned, lightning-fast, and backhanded Cerys, sending her stumbling across the grass, before turning back to Ciri, who danced backward to avoid the same fate. The wraith advanced on her again, and again she moved back, avoiding the creature’s blows, until she saw an opening and struck.</p><p>Her third blow seemed to dissolve the wraith into mist...but then she saw the mist swirl and reform itself into three identical floating skeletal women in ragged dresses.  “Bomb!” she shouted, as the nearest one lunged toward her, and Cerys must have understood because another Moon Dust bomb came hurtling toward her, exploding as it hit the wraith, which did not become material but only vanished.  A copy, then.  But there were still two remaining.</p><p>Cerys had barely got back on her feet when one of the other wraiths slashed at her, and she let out a sharp gasp of pain. Ciri could not tell if it was the real wraith, or if it was only another copy; if the former, it could do physical injury, but the latter could still suck Cerys’ strength away, transferring it to the true nightwraith. Quickly, Ciri pulled one of her own bombs from her pouch and hurled it at Cerys’ attacker.  It disappeared – but the other wraith, the true one, flew at Cerys from her other side, claws out, its face a terrible rictus of misery.</p><p>Cerys screamed, her back arching, and fell to the ground.  Her anguished cry cut into Ciri’s heart.  How could she have let the Queen of Skellige – her <em>friend</em> – come on this dangerous mission?  If she died...no, she couldn’t let Cerys die.  She reached into her pouch and took out another bomb.  She had to try to save her.</p><p>As the wraith reared back for another attack, Ciri threw the bomb, then teleported between the wraith and Cerys, her sword out.  The nightwraith raked her shoulder with its claws, sending a burst of pain down her side and numbing her arm. Her sword dropped from her nerveless fingers.  She tried to teleport again, to blink behind it, but the poison in the wraith’s claws burned her skin so hard she couldn’t concentrate.  She reached for her sword and the wraith casually batted her hand away, sending fresh spikes of pain through her body.  She had to protect Cerys, she knew that, but her movements came so slowly, too slowly.   </p><p><em>So this is it</em>, she thought, as the wraith hissed and raised its arms above her.  <em>I’m sorry, Cerys. </em> She held out her left hand, a useless shield against the attack that...didn’t come.  Instead the creature skittered backwards, keening.</p><p>“Got her,” grunted Cerys, who had crawled forward and thrust her sword upward into the wraith’s foot.  Gingerly she grasped Ciri’s sword by its ichor-coated tip and held it up.  “Here.”  </p><p>Ciri reached down and grabbed its hilt with both hands.  She took a deep breath, and somehow, knowing Cerys was all right – at least, well enough to fight back – gave her the strength she needed to focus on her teleportation.  Disappearing, then reappearing just behind the nightwraith, Ciri plunged the silver deep into the creature’s back.  With a wild ululation, the wraith collapsed.</p><p>There was a long moment of silence.  Ciri hadn’t noticed the night-insects ceasing their chirring when the wraith approached – she supposed she was too busy listening to Cerys, <em>kissing</em> Cerys – but now that the threat was gone she heard that familiar noise start up again.  She looked down at the body.  Perhaps the woman who had become the wraith had been beautiful once, but even without the vengeful spirit animating it, the wraith’s face was a horrid skeletal mask of ashen skin stretched over bone.  Of course this was not the woman’s body – that was in the fishermen’s graveyard near Kaer Trolde Harbor – but a magical, spectral creation of moonlight and wind, driven by the force of Anna’s despair.  It was already beginning to crumble into dust.</p><p>“That’s it done, then?”  Cerys’ voice was low, and she sounded tired.  </p><p>“Yes. We did it, the both of us.”</p><p>“Good.  I need a drink.”</p><p>“Go ahead.  I’ll just harvest the specter dust and clean our swords in the stream before I join you.”</p><p>“Actually,” said Cerys, “I think I might need some help getting over to the fire.”</p><p>Ciri looked up from the wraith to where Cerys still lay on the ground.  The queen of Skellige’s gambeson was torn where the creature had clawed at it, and her red hair had come loose from the cord which had bound it.  Her face, pale in the thin light cast by the waning moon and the flickering flames, was streaked with sweat and dirt.  In an instant Ciri was by her side.</p><p>“Are you hurt badly?  Can you stand if you lean on me?”  She crouched down and put Cerys’ arm around her shoulder, then wrapped her own arm around her waist.  “All right, one, two three, up.”  She heard Cerys’ sharp intake of breath as she stood, and felt the weight of her against her body. </p><p>“I’ll be fine,” said Cerys, but the pain in her voice was unmistakable, and she leaned heavily on Ciri as they moved toward their fire.  Ciri lowered her onto the log bench, then added a few more sticks to the fire, making it flare brightly.  </p><p>“Where does it hurt?  Did the wraith pierce the skin?”</p><p>Cerys tugged at her fur collar to expose the slashed leather gambeson.  The metal shoulder plates had stopped the worst of it, but the edges of the quilted leather showed blood. “It’s not got poison on those claws, does it?”</p><p>“No, but I should clean it,” said Ciri.  She eased the gambeson off carefully, draping Cerys’ cloak around her naked shoulders to keep her warm, then fetched a bottle of the herbal disinfectant Geralt had taught her to brew and poured a bit on a clean square of cloth.  </p><p>“Ugh, it stinks.”</p><p>“It will sting, too,” warned Ciri as she dabbed it on the wound.  Cerys grimaced but didn’t cry out.  “Where else?”</p><p>“That’s the only place it got through to the skin.  But I think I sprained my ankle when that beastie knocked me over.  And – I’m really exhausted,” she added apologetically.</p><p>“When the wraith’s projection attacked you, it drained your strength and fed it to the wraith. I’m surprised you’re still conscious.  Here, let me take off your boot.”  She unlaced Cerys’ boot, which was already tight around her swollen ankle, and Cerys sighed with pleasure.</p><p>“Doesn’t that feel so much better!”  She reached into her saddlebag, which was leaned against the log she sat on, and pulled out the bottle of mead. Uncorking it, she tipped it to her lips. “Go on, do your work. I promise I’ll save some for you.”</p><p>Ciri laughed.  “You’d better!  I don’t think anything else will come near, but shout if you need me.”</p><p>Cerys put the mead away, then leaned forward and pulled her steel sword out from where it lay beneath her saddlebags.  “I’m ready.  Those wolves will keep their distance, if they know what’s best for them.”</p><p>Still, as she collected the specter dust and lunar shards that were all that were left of the nightwraith, Ciri glanced back every so often at Cerys.  If she hadn’t had the strength and the presence of mind to crawl forward and attack the wraith from beneath, likely they’d both be dead now.  </p><p>“How is it now?” she asked as she returned to the fire. She placed their cleaned swords by their gear, and sat on the log next to Cerys.</p><p>“It hurts a bit less, thanks to your doctoring and this fine drink.” She passed the flask to Ciri.  “You’d better have some as well, or I’ll be forced to finish it.”</p><p>It tasted even sweeter, thought Ciri, now that it was a reward for having completed their task.    “I’m glad that’s over with.  And I’m glad it was you who was with me.”</p><p>“Well, it’s not <em>all</em> over.  We’ve taken care of the threat, yes, but the girl’s killer must be brought to justice.  You’re certain it was Ingver who killed her?”</p><p>“Who else?  The wraith sprang from her essence – you saw it react when I burned the comb her sister gave me.”</p><p>“The fire flared high when you threw it in.  The creature might have been reacting to the flames and not the thing you burned.”</p><p>“What about the dagger at the bottom of the gorge?  Ingver must have thrown it over the cliff after he slashed her to death, thinking it would never be found.”</p><p>“And jumped down himself?  You said it was twenty feet.  That sounds terribly risky.”</p><p>“He could have climbed down.  He’s a fit young man.”</p><p>“Or,” countered Cerys, “they could have both been attacked by some other wild creature, and the dagger fell out of his belt when he was thrown over the edge.  Or perhaps it’s not his dagger at all.  We can’t just pick the story that sounds the best, not when it’s as serious as this.”</p><p>Slowly Ciri nodded.  It seemed to her as though it was all so obvious, of course it was Ingver, but she had to admit Cerys was right.  They only had circumstantial evidence, not enough to accuse him of murder.  “So he goes free?   Anna gets no justice?”</p><p>“Maybe.  Maybe not.  I have an idea – well, the beginnings of an idea.” She yawned.  “But I’m exhausted!   Let’s get some sleep first, and you can tell me if it still sounds sensible by light of day. Do you think it’s safe, now?  Shall we keep watches?”</p><p>“Nothing bothered me when I was here before, on my own.  I’m a light sleeper, and our horses will let us know if wolves or bears come upon us.”</p><p>“Good,” said Cerys.  “Then make us a bed here by the fire, and kiss me good night.  I’ll see you in the morning.”</p>
<hr/><p>The late afternoon sun sparkled on the waters of Kaer Trolde Harbor as Ciri and Cerys rode into the village. The men and women they passed nodded in greeting, then went back to their work, and Ciri marveled again at how informal everything was in Skellige.  It had always been this way, of course, but when she’d come to Kaer Trolde as a child it had felt as though she was escaping the formality of the Cintran court, that things were only different because she was a princess from a far-off place that the Skelligers didn’t care about.  Cerys wore no crown and no richly-dressed attendants flocked around her.  The people respected her, but they didn’t make a fuss about her position, and it seemed to Ciri that this suited Cerys just fine.  <em>It would suit me as well</em>, thought Ciri.  <em>If the queen’s still interested in having a witcher around, this witcher just might stay.</em></p><p>She dismounted before Ingver’s house and helped Cerys down from her horse.  Cerys’ ankle had swollen enough in the night that it wouldn’t fit into her boot, but she’d wrapped a cloth around it and hadn’t said a word about it on the ride back from Rogne.  She limped to the bench in front of the house and sat down, propping her foot on a stump.</p><p>Ciri knocked on the door, and Ingver’s mother answered.  “Oh!  It’s the witcher lass!  Did you find the monster?”</p><p>“I might have,” she said.  “Is Ingver in?”</p><p>“He went fishing today.  Alf, is Ingver back yet?”  This was directed to one of a group of children who were playing a complicated game with shells and seabird feathers on the ground in front of the houses.</p><p>“I’ll go check,” said the boy, and he ran toward the harbor.  </p><p>Their game on hold, the other children came over to where Cerys sat.  “Queen Cerys!  What’d you do to your foot?”</p><p>“Sprained my ankle fighting a monster,” she said matter-of-factly.</p><p>“Didja kill it?” asked one.</p><p>She grinned and waved her hand toward Ciri.  “I most certainly did – with a little help from my friend the witcher.”</p><p>Alf came back, trailed by Ingver and Little Holger as well as several other men and women she didn’t recognize, though Cerys greeted each of them by name.   “I hope we didn’t take you from your work,” she added.</p><p>“Nay, Queen Cerys, we fish mornings,” said one of the men.  “We were putting up the catch and readying the boats for tomorrow.”</p><p>“The queen killed a monster!” said one of the little girls.  She sounded as proud, thought Ciri, as if she’d killed it herself.  What a wonderful thing it must be, to grow up with a queen as fierce and clever as Cerys.  Maybe that girl would grow up to be queen herself, since it was an elected position here and not hereditary.  Maybe she’d grow up to be a witcher.  If Ciri stayed – if Cerys really wanted her to stay – she could train girls the way Geralt and Vesemir had trained her, teach them how to be swift and strong, how to use a sword and brew potions. It would be a fitting legacy to pass on.</p><p>“The queen?”  Ingver looked from Ciri to Cerys.  “Did you kill the monster that killed my Anna?  What was it?”</p><p>“I wish I could tell you that the creature’s been killed, and will harm no one again,” said Cerys  “Aye, there was a nightwraith by the ruins, and Ciri and I did kill it.  But the witcher-lass knows these monsters, and she told me that it takes more than slashing with a silver sword to make a wraith go away for good.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” asked Little Holger.</p><p>Cerys nodded at Ciri.  <em>All right, my turn.  </em><em>We’ll see if this works.</em>  “A nightwraith is the angry ghost of a murdered person.  They haunt the place of their death and kill those unlucky enough to come near at night.  They can be killed, but they will re-appear the next night unless they’ve been banished.”</p><p>“And how do you banish it?”</p><p>“You must take something the person owned in life, or something they made, something they touched many times, and when you have killed the wraith, you place that item on the creature’s body.  This forces it to recognize that it is no longer alive – that it’s only a spirit, and must leave this world.  It will call out the name of the person who killed it, and then it will dissipate and be gone.”  It was a mix of truth and fiction, and when Cerys had suggested it, Ciri had scoffed.  It had sounded ridiculous to her.  But the men and women of the harbor village were fisherfolk, not monster hunters, and they were listening intently.</p><p>“Then we can never go back to Rogne!” exclaimed one of the women.  “For how can we know who that poor murdered soul was, and so find something to use to banish it?”</p><p>“Perhaps we can’t,” said Ciri.  “But we thought that maybe the wraith was Anna’s ghost.  Perhaps someone killed her, and threw Ingver into the gorge, and now it’s her spirit that’s been attacking travelers.”</p><p>Before anyone could think too much about what Ciri had said, Cerys spoke up.  “It’s much to ask of you, friend witcher, to go and kill the thing again.  But I will not have a spirit attacking my people. I will give you twice the coin I offered for the contract, if you will take something of Anna’s and return to the ruins to find out the truth, and to put her soul to rest.”  She looked around the crowd.  “Have any of you such a thing of hers, a bit of jewelry perhaps, or of clothing?”</p><p>Ciri looked toward Ingver.  He’d gone white.  “Ingver,” she called to him, “didn’t your mother say you have a shirt Anna made you?”</p><p>“I didn’t kill her!” he cried.  “Why are you looking at me like that?  I didn’t do it!”</p><p>“I didn’t say you did.  I only want the shirt she made for you.  It could be that the wraith isn’t her spirit at all, and then I’ll bring it back to you.”</p><p>“Whoever it was, the spirit will tell us who did it,” said Cerys. “Justice must be done.  You have naught to fear.”</p><p>Ingver blinked rapidly, then nodded.  “Right.  Yes, of course.  But I can’t bear to part with that shirt.  She made it with her hands.  It’s all I have left of her.”</p><p>“You may use the apron she made me,” said Ingver’s mother, who was still standing in front of her doorway.  She began untying the strings that held it around her waist.</p><p>“No, mother!  No!”</p><p>But the villagers had been listening, and they’d been paying attention.  Frowns of suspicion crept across their faces “Easy, Ingver,” said an older Skelliger with a long white beard.  He placed his hand on Ingver’s shoulder.  “Let us find the truth of the matter.”</p><p>With a sudden movement, Ingver broke away from the old man and pushed through the startled crowd. Little Holger and two other young men gave chase. as Ingver ran toward the harbor.  He was fast, but they were faster, and they brought him down on the rocky shore before he could reach his boat.</p><p>That was all the fight he had in him. He came quietly as they brought him back to the bench where Cerys sat, one man holding each of his arms and one behind him.  As he drew near, Ciri saw his eyes were wet.</p><p>“Ingver!” His mother still stood in the doorway of their house, tears running down her face.  “Is it true?” she demanded, her voice wavering between outrage and sorrow. “What have you done?” </p><p>“I didn’t mean to kill her,” he cried. “It was only that she wouldn’t let me alone! You wouldn’t let me alone!  I don’t want to marry!”  He turned toward Cerys.  “I wanted to break it off, that’s why we went to Rogne.  I couldn’t say it here, she’d run to Mother and cry.  I thought maybe she’d have the time to think about how it wasn’t right for us.”</p><p>“As if you’d know!” sobbed his mother.  “But it seems she was too good for you!”</p><p>“I wanted to break it off.  But then she told me….”  His cheeks reddened, and he looked at his feet.  “That we’d have to marry, and soon.  I – I couldn’t bear it.  I didn’t mean to kill her!”</p><p>Perhaps he didn’t, thought Ciri.  On the other hand, he’d apparently recovered enough presence of mind to make it look as though a monster had killed her.  <em>I suppose we’ll never know the truth.</em></p><p>A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd. Ingver’s mother gasped and buried her face in her hands. </p><p>“Justice must be done,” repeated Cerys softly, for Ciri’s ears alone. “’Tis the worst part of wearing the crown.”</p>
<hr/><p>Ciri patted her hair dry and pulled on the clean clothes that had been left for her, then opened the door to the chamber she’d been given.  The man-at-arms standing outside made a short bow.  “Queen Cerys is waiting for you in her private dining room.”</p><p>“Thank you,” she said, and followed the man through the corridors of Kaer Trolde, until he swung open the door at the end of one hallway.</p><p>Cerys, her foot wrapped in a new cloth and propped on a high stool, grinned as she entered the small room.  The last rays of sun streamed through a window, but a fire had been lit in the hearth, and candles sparkled on the table.  It was set for two, with a flagon of wine, a loaf of bread, and a small bowl of sweet yellow butter in the center.  “Come in, Ciri.  Arik, tell the kitchens we’re ready for our dinner.”</p><p>The man-at-arms bowed, more deeply than he had to Ciri, and left.  Ciri took a seat in the only other chair, and Cerys reached for the wine and poured a generous measure into the cup in front of her.  “You clean up nicely,” she observed.</p><p>“I almost didn’t get out of the tub!  I don’t know how long it’s been since I had a warm bath.”</p><p>“’Tis a wonderful thing, hot water.  As is wine,” said Cerys.  She tilted her glass toward Ciri as a toast, then took a sip.</p><p>Ciri drank as well.  It was a deep red wine, tannic and tart. It certainly hadn’t been made in Skellige – she doubted grapes even grew here, in this climate.  But of course Skelligers sailed and traded all up and down the coast, and it wouldn’t surprise her if Kaer Trolde’s wine cellar was filled with bottles from the great estates of Toussaint.  Maybe one day they’d drink Geralt’s wine here, she thought, and smiled.  </p><p>“A happy thought?” asked Cerys.</p><p>“Thinking of the future.  Which I hope will be happy, yes.”</p><p>“For us, aye, I hope so as well.”</p><p>Ciri caught the dark undertone to her voice, the slight emphasis.  “Not for Ingver, I imagine.”</p><p>“Nay.  The jarls will meet and decide his fate.  But it’s a sad thing for the whole village, no matter what.”</p><p>Ciri nodded.  For the village, and for Ingver’s mother, who had still been crying when two of her neighbors took her back inside her house, promising to make her tea and stay the night with her.   “At least Anna’s spirit is at rest.  And no other lovers will fall to the nightwraith.  Though I suppose people will be avoiding Rogne for a while.”</p><p>A knock sounded at the door, and a man brought in a large covered serving-bowl.  Cerys lifted the lid; large pieces of white fish and potatoes swam in a rich white sauce flecked with green herbs and onions.  She ladled out a bowlful first to Ciri and then to herself.  “True, they will,” she said, as the serving-man bowed and left the room.  “But Skellige still has many beautiful places for courting couples to enjoy.  Not to mention plenty of harpies and ogres and other beasties for a witcher to slay.”</p><p>“Is that a job offer?”</p><p>“Are you asking about the slaying of beasts, or the courting couples?”</p><p>Ciri smiled.  “Both, I suppose.  Though if you didn’t think it would be proper for the Queen of Skellige to –”</p><p>“Proper?  Bosh and tosh!  Skellige isn’t Nilfgaard.  We don’t truck with jumped-up kings who strut around in fancy robes and heavy crowns.  My people expect me to keep them safe from invaders, and to listen to their disputes and judge them fairly.”  She reached out and took Ciri’s hand, entwined their fingers. “It’s none of their business who I choose to court.”</p><p>Her words warmed Ciri’s heart. “Well, your Highness, of course we’ll have to discuss payment.”  Cerys raised an eyebrow, and Ciri hurried to clarify:  “For the monster-hunting, that is.”</p><p>“Yes, I know, witchers don’t work for free.  The Skellige treasury will gladly compensate you for taking care of whatever monsters unwisely decide to give us trouble.”</p><p>“Then I accept.”</p><p>“Both?” asked Cerys, squeezing her hand.</p><p>“Both,” said Ciri firmly.  “And you don’t even have to pay me for the courting!”</p><p>“Oh, you!” Cerys laughed, and drew Ciri close for a kiss...and another, and another.</p><p>By the time they disentangled from each other and got back to their dinner, the fish stew had gone cold.  Neither of them minded.</p>
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